


Liar, Liar

by SymbioticAntithesis



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, LiveJournal Meme, M/M, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 17:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SymbioticAntithesis/pseuds/SymbioticAntithesis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My name is Henry Philip McCoy.  I’m a CIA agent, and this is the story of how I die.</p><p>From this prompt on livjournal: <i>When the gang meets Hank, he works for the CIA, but not as a researcher, but as a badass spy. That shy doctor persona is an act.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Liar, Liar

**Author's Note:**

> I am completely un-creative and am calling the unnamed Man in Black Suit Oliver (after the actor who portrayed him).
> 
> Also, I’m trying out a different style. I hope it works. Prolific use of parentheses for the win! And I’ve tried to write everything in present tense, but I’m almost positive I failed pretty hard. So I apologize for the tense changes, it’s my fault, I admit.
> 
> As another warning (if it can constitute as a warning), there is a lack of description and a very open ending. Hank and Alex’s relationship also has a very subtle development so their attraction may come as a bit of a surprise. Just a heads up.
> 
> Summary words was more-or-less taken from the episodes Army of Ghosts and Doomsday of Doctor Who, Season 2.

Hank McCoy meets Charles, Raven, and Erik – _mutants_ like him – while posing as a timid scientist in Oliver’s facility.  (Oliver knows who he is, of course.  Moira doesn’t.  It is interesting to interact with a fellow agent as he dons the persona of someone else.)

Charles knows from the moment they lock eyes that Hank isn’t who he seems but Hank isn’t deterred.  He takes Charles’ telepathy in stride and simply asks Charles to keep his secret until it is necessary to reveal it.

He agrees.

Because if Hank is honest, he rather enjoys catching people off-guard; it’s part of his job description, after all.  It seems that Charles has a sense of humor and enjoys the ruse Hank plays.  And if people couldn’t believe that the shy scientist is truly _him_ then Hank fails in one of the key factors of espionage.

Hank refuses to fail at anything.

Though failing to deceive Charles, even if he is a telepath, is a bit of a blow to his pride and he makes it a point to build strong mental walls – with Charles’ help – to prevent another slip from happening.

Just in case.

~*+=

Charles’ telepathy is just the thing he needs to get Cerebro up and running.  The scientist in him is delighted and he doesn’t even have to feign excitement – his reactions are genuine.  Finding more mutants has always been a dream of his but he lacks the far-reaching capabilities of a telepath to harness Cerebro’s full potential.

Now his dream is coming true.

Once Erik and Charles collects four other mutants and brings them to Oliver’s facility, Hank is on high alert.  Something is going to happen, he doesn’t know what, but he’d be damned if he isn’t prepared for it.

The younger mutants spend a night learning about each other, and Hank carefully files away every bit of detail he deems useful.  (But the smells are overwhelming.  His heightened sensory perception allows him to feel, practically taste their emotions, their personalities.  It’s almost worse than telepathy [but he and Charles know otherwise]).

Angel, with her insect wings and acidic spit is defiant and prideful, but also believes she deserved things she didn’t.  She smells like fire and brimstone.

Armando, with his adaptability is humble and loyal, but struggles with his status as a double minority: a colored man and a mutant.  He reminds Hank of a cool mountain path after winter’s thaw.

Raven, with her shape shifting is warm and loving, but can’t quite accept her natural appearance (and Charles isn’t helping her self-confidence in the least).  Her scent is like morning dew and rain.

Sean, with his sonic vibrations is laid-back and a jokester, but doesn’t know how to form strong relationships with others.  He smells like autumn and spice.

And Alex . . . Alex intrigues Hank the most.  With his powerful plasma energy, he could easily decimate the facility single-handedly.  But Alex is afraid of his power, afraid of losing control, yet he craves human contact and doesn’t know how to express it.  Though Alex tries to put up a strong, aloof and bad-boy front, he truly wants companionship, wants to believe.

“How about Bigfoot?”  And this poor, broken boy who refuses to show weakness because he doesn’t want to hurt saddens Hank.  He wonders if he’ll be able to piece him back together, if Alex will allow him.

Because everyone needs someone they can trust.  Because Hank understands what it’s like to starve for attention (his parents are apathetic towards him, he’s an outcast, a child genius stripped of his youth and innocence too early in his life), and it took everything he had to convince himself that he could make a difference somehow, someway.  (Now he works for the government, a CIA agent and an inventor.)

Their tentative bubble of safety and camaraderie shatters when Shaw and his mutants invade the facility, killing all of the humans who stand in their way.

Hank has to do something, protect these young, terrified mutants (the fear emanating off the teens is almost tangible; it makes him dizzy and choke on his own saliva) who has never seen so much bloodshed in their life.  (But Hank has; the others just don’t know it.  Maybe Alex has, too; Hank saw the coordinates where Erik and Charles picked him up, why Alex was sent there in the first place, conjectured why he asked for solitary.)

 _Take care of them_ , Charles had projected to him when he, Erik, and Moira left for the Soviet Union.  And he would.  (It almost makes Hank laugh at how childish they had been acting, but sometimes one needs levity.  If only to keep their sanity.)

When Shaw offers his allegiance to those who want to rise up and rule, Hank isn’t at all surprised when Angel takes his hand.

When he overhears Darwin and Alex’s plan, he is immediately at their side, a firm hand on both their shoulders.  They turn to him in confusion (Darwin) and annoyance (Alex).

“Don’t,” was all he says.  “Let her go.”

“What?” Alex says, eyes narrowed, voice low.  He’s angry, desperate; he wants to protect.  But Angel doesn’t want to be protected; she wants freedom and she thinks that Shaw will give that to her.  Hank knows all of this just from the scents in the air, and he hopes that Darwin and Alex would acquiesce.

Thankfully (if he could call it that), Shaw and his mutants teleport away before either Darwin or Alex could act against Hank’s command.  He breathes a sigh of relief and releases the teens’ shoulders, muscles relaxing.

“Stay here,” he says, before exiting the room and heading towards the atrium.  It was in rubble, almost completely destroyed, with no evidence of the humans who died defending the facility.  Hank purses his lips, picking up one of the rocks and turning it over in his hands.  He swipes his tongue over one of the edges then brings it to his nose and sniffs; fire, metal, blood, gunpowder.  Shaw had killed at least a dozen men with a single explosion, and if the gunpowder and metal are tangible in the concrete, it means that he used the energy from the firearms the humans were equipped with.

Which means that he had made the right choice in stopping Darwin and Alex.

His ears pick up the hesitant footsteps behind him and he sighs, resigned; he shouldn’t have expected them to listen to him.

“Hank?”

It’s Raven and she looks confused, frightened.  Sean, Darwin, and Alex are close behind her with similar expressions but he can also smell the spicy tang of anger and indignation.  He glances down to the piece of rubble in his hand, then clenches and crushes it into powder, before meeting their gaze again.  “I suppose I owe you folks an explanation.”

~*+=

When Charles, Erik, and Moira return, the other teens are still trying to absorb everything that Hank had told them.  They don’t believe him (of course they don’t; he was a shy, bumbling scientist not a highly trained government agent).  Raven accepts the truth first, which is unsurprising but the others are still skeptical.

Charles locks eyes with Hank when he arrives, and Hank relays everything that had occurred during their absence mentally and Charles in kind updates him on the information they had procured from Emma Frost.

What Hank doesn’t expect, however, is Charles’ statement that everyone is going home.

“No.”  Charles’ eyes are on him again, and Hank silently thinks every reason why they all need to stay.  Shaw can absorb energy and rerelease it at will; he’s his own nuclear bomb ( _I can find a way to stop him_ ).  How does Charles expect to stop World War III single-handedly when Shaw has a titanium alloy helmet that prevents telepathic powers ( _I don’t know, I’ll figure something out_ )?  Shaw has his army of mutants, Charles and Erik could raise theirs ( _you’re just children_ ).

“Don’t,” Hank says out loud, startling the others.  “Treat us like children.”  _We’ve had our own experiences, Charles; I’m sure you’ve seen them.  We’re no more children than you, Erik, and Moira.  Don’t underestimate our abilities._

A long pause, and Hank refuses to back down.  “Fine,” Charles relents.  “We’ll all have to train.”  He glances over to the others who sit confused at the silent argument Hank and Charles had just settled.  “And I know the perfect place.”

And Hank’s promising career as a CIA field agent and inventor is altered drastically.

~*+=

Hank is in the labs making Sean’s flight suit when he catches a whiff of oak and cinnamon, and a smell he could only liken to the summer wind: nostalgic, crisp, bold.  Which means that –

“Bozo.”

He turns and meets the gaze of those grey-blue eyes.  “Alex.”

“Charles said that you wanted to run some tests?”

Hank notices how Alex stumbles over the word ‘tests’, but he doesn’t mention it.  “Yes.  Give me a moment to finish Sean’s suit.”

Alex grunts and sits quietly at the other end of the table, crossing his arms over his chest.  Hank can smell the nervous resignation coming from the blond and he wants to say something to reassure him, but he isn’t sure if it’d come out insulting.  Alex is unpredictable.

A few minutes pass before Hank sets his work aside and turns his attention to Alex.  “I want to test the output and force of your plasma blasts so I can make something to help you focus the energy to a single point,” he says without preamble.  “We’ll run initial tests in the bunker, then in the surrounding woods to calculate the distance you’re able to project.”

Alex stares at him, expression closed off, his scent unchanging.  “Will it work?” he asks finally.

“Yes,” he answers.

He looks apprehensive, his eyes glimmering in suspicion.  “Are you lying?”

“Why would I lie about this?” he asks in surprise.

“You’ve lied to us before.”

Hank sighs; he should have known this would be an issue.  “I apologize.  I didn’t think it necessary to reveal my identity at the time.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“Because I was in character, Alex.  I take my job seriously and if I can’t convince people that I’m someone I’m not, then I’m not a very good agent then, am I?”

Alex purses his lips and Hank could smell the underlying anger and betrayal rolling off of the blond’s shoulders.  However, he seems to accept Hank’s apology and reasoning as he turns to leave the lab without a word.  Hank gathers his equipment and follows.

He records the necessary data and starts to scribble notes and equations on his papers.  Alex stalks up to him and says clearly, “I still don’t trust you.”

“Understood.”

“But if you can help me control my power, I may consider forgiving you.”

Hank blinks in surprise, but recovers quickly.  “Fair enough.”

Alex nods and departs, leaving Hank alone with his thoughts and with a lingering smell of musk.

~*+=

Hank constructs a chest plate for Alex to help him focus his plasma projectiles.  He isn’t able to ask Alex to test it until he assures Sean’s suit works properly.  When Erik pushes the redhead unceremoniously off the satellite dish, Hank almost wants to laugh.  Erik is nonchalant, Charles is shocked, Sean is terrified.  Their emotions intermingling makes Hank want to snicker and sneeze at the same time.

But when Sean soars over the grounds, Hank is grinning widely with pride.  He smells the exhilaration and awe, and feels like he is flying right along side with him.

He almost wishes he were.

After Sean’s first successful flight, Hank goes to the weight room to talk to Raven.  Erik has been here, and Raven seems to be conflicted about something.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Raven turns to look at him, giving him a weak smile.  “Hey.”  They haven’t spoken since the attack on the facility.  Not alone, anyway.  He’s pretty certain that his deception is partly what is bothering her.  Hank sits next to her on the bench press and waits.  He doesn’t wait long.

“That night at CIA headquarters,” she starts, “When you took my blood sample.”  She turns to him and he meets her gaze.  “Did you really want to make a normalizing serum or is there another reason?”

“Both,” he answers honestly.  “Do you still want to look normal?”

She looks away, “I don’t know.  Do you think we need to?”

“Maybe.”  He rests a hand on hers, “You know I wouldn’t be a CIA agent if I couldn’t get over the stares and the taunts, if I didn’t have some confidence.  We may look different physically but . . . don’t you also think that we should believe that we can do something good with our abilities?  That’s what I kept thinking, at least.”

Raven laughs, “You’re so different now that you’re not pretending anymore.”

His lips quirk a little, “I know.”

They remain in silence for a while until Raven speaks again, “Are you still making the serum?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs.  “I have other things to work on,” he hedged, not wanting to reveal his plans.  “And it was never something I was really serious about.  I may look into it if we eventually find other mutants with physical mutations who would . . . want something to normalize their appearance.  And if anything, I might try to make something that can enhance.”

“Enhance?  Wouldn’t that be dangerous?”

“It could be,” he says with a light smirk.

And Raven smiles back, her mood lifted.  He squeezes her hand then releases her, rising.  “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Okay.”

“Come as yourself,” he adds.

She looks startled then she smiles, shifting to her natural blue form.  He grins and nods.  As he leaves the room, he smells her confidence and pride skyrocket and his grin widens.

He makes his way back to the lab to pick up Alex’s chest plate and calls for Charles mentally to tell him he wanted to test the new prototype.  The telepath responds immediately, saying that he’s summoned Alex to the bunker.

When they convene, Alex looks and smells skeptical.  Hank insists that he at least try the vest so he could take notes and make any necessary adjustments.  The test is both a success and failure.  Alex no longer sets the bunker on fire and his plasma is now focused to a single point, but Alex is still having difficulty aiming (more like there’s too much energy in a single point that it throws Alex off balance).  Alex is surprised at the partial success of Hank’s work, and there is an underlying hope and appreciation in his eyes.

The following morning, Hank is in his lab updating Alex’s chest plate when the blond strolls in, more relaxed and calm than Hank has ever seen him since the facility.

“You weren’t at breakfast,” the blond says in greeting.

“I’ve been working.”

“Have you slept at all?” he asks, frowning slightly.

Hank shrugs, “A few hours.”

“Hmm.”  He moves to sit across of Hank, quietly watching him work.

“I’ve been thinking that you should train with Darwin a bit,” Hank says after a while.  “It’d be good for both of you.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

Alex’s lip twitches in amusement and Hank bites back a grin.  They remain in silence while Hank continues to fiddle with Alex’s chest plate, and Hank lets the blond’s scent wash over him.  After Hank finishes, he and Alex walk to the bunker together.  This time, Alex hits the mannequin he was aiming for, but still stumbles back by the force of his plasma beam.  Despite being thrown on his back, Alex is smiling and laughing.

“Nice job, Bozo,” he says, and Hank knows that he’s grateful for the control he has given him.

“You’re welcome,” he answers, kneeling down and patting Alex on the shoulder, who was still lying spread-eagled on the floor.

Alex smiles, and a hint of salty sweetness wafts through the air, leaving Hank intrigued yet confused; he’s never smelt anything like it before and he wonders what it is.

When Hank leaves to check on the others’ progress, the same smell permeates the air but with a slight tang of bitterness, and he files the smell away for later scrutiny.

~*+=

“Why didn’t you stop Angel from leaving?” Alex suddenly asks out of the blue, and Hank startles at the question.  They are in the labs again, but it’s nearing midnight and Alex is still here.

“She wanted to go,” he answers, “I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“How do you know?”  Alex’s eyes narrow marginally, and Hank can tell he’s accusing, angry.

“I could smell her emotions.”

“What?” he blinks in surprise, and the anger dissipates immediately.

“It’s part of my mutation,” he explains, “I have heightened sensory perception.”

Alex raises a delicate eyebrow in amusement.  “So what, you can see in the dark, yet you still need those dorky glasses?”

He chuckles, “Well, I didn’t say that my mutation’s perfect.”

“No,” Alex says seriously.  “None of ours are.”

Hank sobers, “I suppose.”

They don’t say anything else, and Hank continues to work.  And Alex stays.  It’s nearly two in the morning when Alex nods off and Hank sets his things aside to scoop the smaller man into his arms to carry him to his room.

When he opens Alex’s door, he is unprepared for the heady scent of _Alex_ that hits him full in the face.  He gasps softly and grips Alex closer, feeling suddenly dizzy.  Hank releases a shuddering breath then steps into the room.  He deposits Alex onto the bed, pulls of the blond’s shoes and tucks him in.  Hank resists the sudden urge to kiss Alex on the forehead and leaves the room, feeling heat creep up his cheeks and down his spine.

He barely sleeps that night.

~*+=

Charles thinks it’s a good idea for everyone to learn some hand-to-hand combat.  Erik is skeptical and cocky, thinking that none of them could hold their own in a fight.  Feeling a bit insulted, both Hank and Charles challenge Erik to a spar.  Charles tells Hank mentally that he’d been in the Korean War, and Hank returns that he’s quite proficient at capoeira.  The telepath accepts this with pleasant surprise.

Everyone else is also surprised that Hank willingly offers to fight Erik one-on-one.  Erik and the others underestimate him, he knows, so he steps up first.  They would fight without powers, which would be a bit difficult for Hank since he would use his strength unconsciously sometimes.

Erik and Hank square off, and Erik, unsurprisingly, throws the first punch.  Hank drops, braces his hands on the floor, and lands a solid kick to Erik’s jaw.  The metal-bender is thrown back and lands hard a few feet away.  He smells the shock from everyone and has to smile.  Erik gets back up and the fight continues.  Hank ducks and weaves around Erik’s attacks (though he lands a couple of hits), and counters with acrobatic kicks.

Hank finally manages to pin Erik when he launches his legs up and around Erik’s midsection and flips him down to the floor.  He grabs Erik’s arms and twists them behind his back, one knee pushing harshly against his spine.

Erik concedes after a moment’s struggle and Hank releases him, helping him up.

“Impressive,” he says, though Hank can also smell his hurt pride.

So all he says is, “Thank you.”

Charles is grinning broadly and the younger mutants are cheering and laughing.  Except Alex: he’s clapping along with the others, but he’s staring at Hank with wide, appreciative eyes darkened with – then the scent of lust envelops him and he nearly stumbles to his knees.  He locks gazes with Alex, who stubbornly refuses to look away despite the blush creeping up his cheeks.  Because Alex knows that Hank can smell him, knows what he is feeling, and that makes Hank want to kiss him in front of everybody.

He doesn’t.

~*+=

Later that afternoon, Moira calls all of them into the mansion, telling them that Kennedy is about to make his address.

Tomorrow will be the day of reckoning, for good or ill.  And Hank is prepared.

After the broadcast, he pulls Moira into an empty room.

“Do you trust me?” he asks with all seriousness.

Her brow furrows in confusion.  “Why are you asking?”

“I need an accomplice.”

Moira eyes him speculatively.  She’s cautious, hesitant, but she seems to sense Hank’s determination.  “All right,” she finally answers.  “What is it?”

“I’m going to save the world tomorrow.  No one can intervene and the world can’t know it’s me.”

Her eyes widen, “What are you planning, Hank?”

And he explains everything.  She’s reluctant at first, but she eventually agrees.  “And whatever you do, by any means possible, don’t let Charles erase your memory.    We need someone on the other side, Moira.  Someone we can trust.”

She nods, “Understood.”

He smiles and pulls her into a hug.  “Thank you.”  Hank feels her nod again against his shoulder, and she returns the embrace.

They release each other and Moira says, “Get some sleep.  You’ll need it.”

Hank laughs softly, “I suppose I will.”

“And Hank,” she calls before he departs.  He turns and tilts his head in curiosity.  “Answer one question for me, truthfully.”  Hank nods hesitantly.  “Will you come back?”

He purses his lips, furrowing his brow.  “I don’t know,” he says honestly.

A flash of sorrow in those brown eyes then the look and smell of acceptance.  “All right,” is all she says and he leaves without another word.

Hank goes to the lab first, collecting the necessary materials and equipment for the battle.  He tucks them into his trousers and carries the rest to his room.  Closing the door behind him, he makes his way to the dresser and places everything into the top drawer.  He shuts it, sighing, and strips down to his boxers.

There’s a knock on his door, and Hank calls out that it is unlocked.  Alex steps inside, and Hank can smell nervousness battling with calm along with the blond’s usual cinnamon and oak.

“Hey,” he says.

Hank smiles softly and beckons the blond closer.  He obliges and sits stiffly on the edge of the bed.  Hank sits next to him.  “You all right?” he asks, concerned.

Alex shrugs jerkily.  “Sure, if you think having the hypothetical world on your shoulders and the possible end of humanity as we know it ‘all right’, then yeah, I guess I am.”

He lets out a humorless laugh, not wanting to think how very ironic Alex’s statement is, and places a hand on Alex’s shoulder, squeezes.  “I’m scared, too.”

Alex grunts and leans into Hank’s touch.  Hank shifts closer, the hand on Alex’s shoulder running up to trace the blond’s strong jawline, his other hand wrapping firmly around Alex’s waist.  He leans in and Alex meets him halfway, fingers tangling in dark hair, pulling him closer.

The kiss is a tentative and gentle touch of lips, but Hank’s senses are overwhelmed by everything _Alex_.  They part after a few seconds, and Hank is panting, trembling.  “Sorry,” he mumbles.  “Sensory overload.”

Alex laughs, smile wide.  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is.”

They maneuver around each other so they’re lying side by side, Alex’s face buried into the crook of Hank’s neck, lips against Hank’s collarbone.  Alex kisses it absently.  “D’you mind if I stay?”

A silly question, when it seems like Alex has all but settled in for the night, but Hank smiles and pulls the warm body closer.  “Of course not.”

(It pains him to think about what his plans are on the morrow, pains him that he can’t say a word.  But Hank reminds himself that the safety of his country comes first, his own wellbeing and emotions second.)

And they fall asleep curled up against each other, the scent of the summer wind lulling Hank into the deepest slumber he can remember.

~*+=

Erik lifts a submarine out of the ocean, and Hank knows that it’s now or never.  He turns to Moira and she meets his gaze.  She nods, afraid but resolute.  Hank unbuckles his safety belt, takes off his shoes, and stands.  Moira follows and takes the helm.  Before anyone could react, before anyone could notice, Hank is jumping out of the Blackbird.  He twists and launches himself off the wheel and catapults towards the submarine, towards the man who can manipulate the wind.

Hank crashes into him, hoists him over his shoulder and descends into the submarine, mentally forbidding Charles to interfere or they’ll all die.  He closes the hatch behind him and is immediately met with a sword to his neck.

“Hank?”  It’s Angel, and she smells of fear and uncertainty.

“Angel.”  He eyes the teleporter and motions to the man over his shoulder, asking a silent question.  The teleporter takes a few steps back but keeps his sword up, ready for attack.  Hank carefully puts down the wind manipulator (discreetly twisting and releasing a capsule on his belt) and raises his hands over his head.  “I have a proposition for you,” he announces.  “If you will hear me out.”

“Trying to recruit us will not work,” the teleporter says, the blade of his sword flush against his jugular again.

“No?” he asks conversationally.  “Why not?”

“We cannot coexist with the humans,” he says and glances down to Hank’s feet.  “You should know this.  Why are you fighting for them?”

“Because despite the hurts they caused me, there are still good people in this world and those people are human.  My parents are human.  Prejudice is a learned behavior.”

“We will never be equal in their eyes.”

“Maybe not,” he concedes.  “But is it not worth trying?”

The teleporter presses his sword against Hank’s neck, drawing a thin line of blood, “No.”

Hank turns to Angel.  “And you?”

“Hank,” she shakes her head, “Why are you doing this?”

“You know why, Angel.”  He looks deep into her eyes (please, Angel, please see reason).  “It’s about trust.”

Her expression hardens and she looks away.  “I don’t anymore.”

He sighs in defeat (he should have known), “Then I’m sorry.”  Hank deflects the teleporter’s blade and strikes a strong punch to his chest, where his heart is.  The teleporter stumbles back against the opposite wall and slumps down to the ground, unconscious.  He turns to Angel, eyes cold.  “Last chance, Angel.  I want you to make the right choice.”

She smells of fear and shock then he remembers that she doesn’t know that he’s actually a CIA agent, not just a scientist and inventor.

“How – ”

He holds out a hand, just like Shaw did all those weeks ago.  “I don’t want you to die.”

“What?”

“The moment the hatch closed, I released a weaker form of hydrogen cyanide into the air.  It’s only been a few minutes, but a few more and we’ll all suffocate.”

“Then you’ll die, too!” she says, taking a step back.

He gives her a small smile, “Perhaps.”  He doesn’t break eye contact and he’s hoping, _praying_ that she’ll take his hand.

“Who are you?” she asks warily.

“My name is Henry Philip McCoy and I am – or rather was – a CIA agent working for the American government.  But as of right now, I am simply Hank, a scientist and mutant giving you another chance at life.”

Her eyes narrow, “You expect me to trust you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”  Her chin lifts, defiant.

Hank sighs.  “Because I care.  You deserve better, Angel.  The best.  And if it’s in my power to save you from destroying yourself then I’ll do whatever I can.  Now please,” he takes a small step forward, extending his fingers to her.

She eyes him hesitantly then finally takes his hand, and he gives her a brilliant smile (at the same time, he feels terrible for manipulating her, albeit for her own good; but what else could he do?).  “What about him,” he gestures towards the wind manipulator.  “Do you know what he would want?”

“I don’t know.”

Hank nods, “Then take him with you.  I’ll take care of Shaw.”

The submarine suddenly rumbles and shakes, and they’re thrown off their feet.  They tumble around the cabin and Hank pulls Angel closer to shield her.  The shaking stops and Hank releases her.  “Are you all right?”  She nods.  “Good, now get him out and seal the door when you leave.”

“What about you?”

Hank doesn’t answer and helps her heft the wind manipulator up the ladder.  The hatch opens and he pushes them both unceremoniously out of the submarine.  “Go,” and he closes and locks the door.

He coughs, rubbing his throat; the cyanide may be odorless for humans, but he can smell it perfectly.  It’s a terrible, bitter scent and it smells of death.

Hank makes his way down the submarine, all the way to the nuclear reactor.  He powers it down.  Then he pulls out another cyanide capsule and connects it to the air ventilation.  Twist, pull, and Hank starts coughing in earnest.  He fumbles with the controls, powering down every door, every lock; Shaw isn’t escaping, he won’t let him.

And that’s when he hears a door slide open, a body collapse to the floor.  He stumbles away from the panel and staggers into the next room – and there he is.  Shaw’s clawing at the floor, at his throat, gagging, choking.  Hank supports himself on the threshold, barely conscious, as he watches the man asphyxiate.

When he stops twitching, Hank collapses and crawls his way to Shaw’s body, checking for a heartbeat; he needs to be sure.

No pulse.

But Hank is shaking, his breath coming in short gasps (it’s only his superior respiratory system that has allowed him to survive this long; it’s one part of his mutation no one else knows about).  He reaches for his belt again and pulls out a syringe.  It hasn’t been tested, but this is his only chance at surviving, however marginal.

He uses the last of his energy to inject the serum into his veins, and he falls back to lie on the floor, vision dim.

His eyes fall shut and he breathes.

~*+=

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on wordpress.com and fanfiction.net on January 01, 2013.


End file.
